


Stucky Advent Calendar 2015

by WillowPerpetua



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Ballet, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Drag Queens, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Gay Bar, Graffiti, Hospitals, Illnesses, Kidnapping, Krampus - Freeform, Lingerie, M/M, Modern Era, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, SJW Steeb, Snowball Fight, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Counting down to Christmas with your OTP! I'll be posting a different story or drabble every day through the 25th to make the season just a little more festive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st -- Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set Post Winter-Soldier, with a recovered Bucky Barnes. We get a glimpse into their life at the onset of the Christmas season and learn just how much Steve loves the holidays.

“Steve!” Bucky called through the apartment as he stumbled in, arms laden with boxes. Steve was not due home for another hour, two if he knew Clint and the way they would get to talking after the meeting. That was good, Bucky thought, as he set the packages down on the table near the door and shucked off his coat. He would need all the time he could get to find somewhere good to stash these things.

“Bucky?” Steve called from the living room. Bucky’s veins filled with ice. What was wrong? He checked Steve’s calendar earlier that morning just to avoid needed to sneak past him, and it had indeed been full of meetings with the rest of the team. Had some catastrophe befallen the world while Bucky was shopping? Had Steve needed him? Had they been trying to reach him? Panicked thoughts chased themselves around inside of Bucky’s brain, one after another while he strode into the living room, the packages abandoned and forgotten.

The sight of Steve forced all things from Bucky’s mind. He was dressed up—or rather, dressed down to almost nothing. The ribbons and lace that crisscrossed around him wound up into such a neat bow that Bucky wanted nothing more than to tear it off him. Steve stayed as still as a statue underneath the tree, which glowed with a thousand flickering bulbs.

Bucky could not tell if the sudden rush of heat that he felt was from the roaring fire which crackled merrily in the grate, or from Steve himself, who turned over his shoulder to give him a knowing smile, but otherwise staying perfectly in place, with only those beautiful curls of ribbon maintaining any sense of modesty.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.” Steve said.

“Steve,” Bucky said, crossing the empty floor between them in only a few short steps, his eyes locked on Steve’s, already simmering with passion under his brow. “You know it’s only December first, right?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded, his grin widening.

“What can I say?” He asked. “I was moved by the holiday spirit. I wanted to let you unwrap something early.”

Unable to think of a witty retort, Bucky sank to his knees next to Steve, so that they were on a level with one another and turned Steve around in his arms so that he could kiss him with as much enthusiasm as he desired.

“Did you get me a pony, Steve?” Bucky asked, once they parted. Steve laughed and pushed him away, but not too far.

“No.” He shook his head. “But it is a present that you can ride, if you want.”

“Ugh. I can’t keep joking around. Can I just—“Bucky reached down between Steve’s legs and felt the softness of the panties, with all their fancy bows and ribbons. Steve’s hands sprang up to Bucky’s shoulders to hang on while his hips moved of their own accord.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. That’s enough being clever for one night.” Steve’s voice took on that breathy quality which Bucky had grown to love.

“Okay, baby.” Bucky said. “I got you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Some hours later, after the panties had been thoroughly demolished and left under the tree, Steve called to Bucky again.

“Hey Buck? What’s all this?”

Bucky cringed when he saw Steve standing over the boxes he meant to stash away before Steve got ahold of them. The telltale pink stripes of the Victoria’s Secret packaging stood out, impossible to deny among the packages.

“Well. I guess since I got to open something today it’s only fair that you should, too.” Bucky said. He picked the pink box up and handed it to Steve.

Inside was a bejeweled, satiny number in deepest blue that looked like the night sky, Steve held it up, let it fall across his hands like water, and rubbed it against his cheek feeling the softness of the fabric.

“Oh god, Buck. This is something else. Can’t wait to give it a try.” He looked over it again, and his face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked.

“It’s not my size.” Steve said, trying to keep the tone of disappointment out of his voice.

“No, sugar.” Bucky said, with a reassuring squeeze of Steve’s hand as he took the garment from Steve and held it up. “It’s my size.”


	2. December 2nd -- Little Bummer Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a High School AU with Skinny Steve. He doesn't like bullies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks forever to colorfulcandypainter for her art for this chapter. She is not only my muse for so many things but also an incredibly talented artist. Please check out her work and delightful blog on Tumblr ( colorfulcandypainter.tumblr.com )

On the day before the winter break began, Steve rested against his locker, hoody zipped all the way up, clutching his notes to his chest with his everyday look of casual defiance as the bell rang above his head, just as earsplitting as ever. Bucky approached as the stampede of students threatened to overwhelm them and walked with him toward their first period class.

“So what’s it gonna be this year?” Bucky asked, expectant.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve said shrugging and opening his notebook.

“Bull.” Bucky said, leaning closer. “You waited until the day before winter break. Means It’s gotta be something big. Steve, c’mon, let me in on it.”

“If you’re suggesting that I’ve got something up my sleeve—“

“Of course I am.” Bucky interrupted him. “You pull some big grand prank every year. It’s got to be something big this year. Come on. Tell me.”

In answer Steve unzipped his sweat shirt and draped it across the back of his chair, leaving the words on his chest exposed to the world. In thick, bold letters that were as plain as day to everybody who might glance in his direction were two words: Fuck Trump.

Bucky took a moment to take the message in, nodded, tilted his head to the side to consider the shirt from a better angle, and hummed thoughtfully.

“Well.” He said, although he did not know what he would say next.

“What?” Steve said, already puffing out his chest, the better to read his message, and jutting out his jaw like he was gearing up for a fight.

“It’s just, that’s not really a prank, is it?” Bucky said. “It’s more of a political statement.”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed. “After I put the live turkey in Principal Hill’s office before Thanksgiving to try to encourage more people to consider veganism, I figured it was time to cool it. Also, I think this is more important. People think Trump’s a joke, a punchline, but he’s not. He is a bully. It’s never okay to let a bully win, and bullies win when good people say nothing.”

“Well, jeeze, Steve, I didn’t expect a big speech. I mean, you’re preaching to the choir here. I think he’s just as bad as the next rational person.”

“Then how come I’ve never heard you say anything about him?” Steve asked. Bucky realized that Steve was not picking a fight with him. Bucky knew when Steve was ready to start throwing fists. This was just a heavy conversation. Much too heavy for 7:52 a.m. Bucky shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I just never thought much about it before now, okay? You win.”

“Alright, class, settle down. I know it’s a losing battle, but I’m going to try to keep your interest for just under an hour.” Mr. Coulson looked just as ready to be done with the day as they were. They could sense it on him. The desire to flee into the snowbanks and not be seen again for three weeks was strong.

He went through the roster quietly and efficiently. There was no need to call names so late in the year, when he knew everyone by face. He got to R—Rogers, and stopped.

“Mr. Rogers, can you tell me what’s on your shirt?” He said. Mr. Coulson managed to maintain a professional distance, he kept the smile just hidden under a thin layer of calm, but the phrase “Fuck Trump” on his student’s shirt caught him by surprise so much that he nearly let out a chuckle.

“Do you really want me to say it out loud, sir?” Steve asked.

“Then clearly you and I can both tell it’s inappropriate and should not be worn in school.” Mr. Coulson said. His tone was understanding, but Steve could tell he would not budge. Steve groaned inwardly. He hoped he would at least make it to break after third period before he had to change.

“Okay. I’ll change.” Steve said.

“No, I’m afraid I have to send you to the office.” Mr. Coulson said. “It’s school policy for a dress code violation.”

“Really?” Steve asked, holding his backup shirt to his chest (it read “This School Deemed My Shirt a Distraction.” and had a big picture of a bomb with the letter F on it).

“Yes, Mr. Rogers. I don’t make the rules.” Mr. Coulson said, and handed Steve a hall pass. Steve nodded, shoved the shirt back into his bag, and took off down the hall with the pass in hand.

Steve sat in Principal Hill’s office, jiggling his knee up and down in a nervous rhythm while he waited for her to enter and rain righteous fire down upon him. Sure, he thought to himself, he had planned on getting in trouble, that was kind of the point, but he wished now that he had brought Bucky in on this after all. A second shirt wouldn’t have cost him that much more, and then at least they would both be sitting here together.

Steve felt bad for even thinking the thought. Of course he would not wish that Bucky were in trouble on his behalf. He just wanted to be around him, in any way that he could, and he really did not want to be alone.

Principal Hill entered the office and Steve sat up straighter. Steve was prepared to argue his case on free speech and bodily autonomy and the first amendment. He had it all written down, but he didn’t even have a chance to start.

“Nice shirt.” She said, not bothering to mask the half smile that slid across her face. It was gone the moment she sat.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Normally we’d just put you in an extra shirt for gym class but winter break starts in…” Hill checked her watch “five hours and thirty-seven minutes. So.” She stood and rummaged through a tall filing cabinet in the back of the room and returned with a roll of black duct tape. “Here’s what I’ve got. Cover up the objectionable word and you’ll keep a clean record.”

“Are you serious?” Steve asked.

“As a heart attack.” Principal Hill said. “Call it a Christmas Present. I mean, Holiday present.”

“Thanks for the political correctness, but I do celebrate Christmas.”

“Okay then.” Hill said. “You know what to do.” She tore a strip of tape for him. “Now get out of my office.”

“Yes, ma’am. Happy holidays.” Steve said. He took the tape and her mercy and left.

Steve returned to class with his shirt altered. He placed the hall pass on Mr. Coulson’s desk, and stood at the back of the room with an expression of perfect serenity.

“Mr. Rogers, I see you met with Principal Hill.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And she allowed you to keep the shirt?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve said again. “She said that if I covered the offensive word, I was in the clear. As you can see, the offensive word is gone.”

The shirt now said “Fuck” followed by a patch of duct tape which obscured the word “Trump.”

If Steve expected Mr. Coulson to be angry, if he expected him to argue or to turn red, then he would not have been the kid who sat through Mr. Coulson’s history class every day since August. Instead, they shared a small nod of understanding before Steve returned to his seat.

 

* * *

 

 

The bell rang at the end of the day with no more major hang ups. Steve met up with Bucky, bundled up in coats and scarves, to prepare for the long walk home with the “Fuck Trump” shirt buried under all the layers.

“Ready to head out?” Steve asked.

“Just about. Only one thing left I gotta do before we ditch this place for three weeks.” Bucky said, and although Steve could hear all the relief in his voice, there was a tremor of nervousness just under the surface.

“Okay, take your time.” Steve said, and leaned back against the lockers.

“So here’s the thing.” Bucky said, closing his locker. “I love your shirt. I love that you’re always coming up with these weird stunts and that you get away with it. I love that you’re not afraid to do what’s right, whatever that is, no matter if it’s something little like a tee-shirt or something huge like getting Principal Schmidt fired last year for being a racist prick.”

“Gee,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the linoleum. He always figured these were the kinds of things that went unsaid between them. “Thanks, Buck.”

“So what I’m tryin’ to say is I love you, Steve. And I’m going to kiss you now if that’s okay.”

The whole hallway had stopped its migration around them to watch Bucky’s declaration and held its collective breath as Bucky leaned in while Steve gave his slow nod of assent. They had not noticed the sheer cone of silence that fell around them, nor the stillness of the crowd that watched on until lips touched lips and the silence was broken with a cheer that emerged as a single voice from the surrounding crowd.

Steve paid their audience no mind, and pulled Bucky in for another kiss.


	3. December 3rd -- Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set Post Winter Soldier with a mostly recovered Bucky. Steve and Bucky catch a super colds and are quarantined during Christmas.

The heavy plastic sheeting that hung all around them in their own special research wing of the CDC failed to have the same ambiance as mosquito netting. Bucky sniffled, snorted, and sneezed through their first hour after they were allowed to remove the hazmat suits and Steve did little better.

Steve fit his arm through the hole in their quarantine chamber and allowed the nurse to draw yet another series of vials of blood while Dr. Cho explained what was known through the speaker.

“It’s a highly virulent strain of nasopharyngitis. That is to say, you’ve got a cold.”

The revelation fell flat. Bucky crossed to the communication panel, nose and eyes streaming as if he had just been doused with pepper gas.

“Wait. What?” He asked. “You’re telling me this is a cold? Doc, this ain’t no cold. I seen this one here lookin’ healthier when he had walking pneumonia, back when he couldn’ta weighed a hundred pounds. How can this be a cold?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Doctor Cho said nodding at the screen. “If you two are feeling this bad, then this thing could decimate a small city in just a couple of hours if it got out into the civilian population.”

“You think it’s—ACHOO!—lethal?” Steve asked.

“Bless you.” Bucky said.

“We don’t want to find out.” Dr. Cho said. “The virus is mutating so fast that our researchers are having a hard time finding a cure. “If I had to venture a guess, I would say that exposure would be toxic to any person who has not had the super soldier serum.”

“So what’s the prognosis for us?” Bucky asked.

The screen beeped twice and a light flashed in the corner.

“Hang on.” Dr. Cho said. “You’re getting a call from the Director.”

“Afternoon, gentlemen. I’d like to personally thank you for saving humanity.” Director Coulson said in a gentle tone, as if he stood right next to their sickbeds.

“Not a problem.” Steve said. Bucky could see the tips of his ears turning pink from the praise. “Just part of the job.” From behind Steve, Bucky blew his nose into a tissue with a sound like an elephant.

“Listen, I wanted to be the one to deliver the news personally: you’re going to have to stay in quarantine for 48 hours after your symptoms clear”  _if your symptoms clear,_ was the unspoken implication in Director Coulson’s words, but they did not linger on the possibility.

“That’s expected.” Bucky said. He nodded at the screen and then wished he had not because the action made him feel dizzy.

“We just want you to keep the medical staff fully briefed on your status at all times, okay? They’re reporting directly to me.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve and Bucky said in unison.

“Thanks boys.” Coulson said. “Feel better.”

* * *

 

They did not feel better. Twenty-four hours came and went and Steve and Bucky continued to suffer through their symptoms with a draining sense of hope that they would ever feel well again.

“Hey Buck?” Steve said from his hospital bed, looking over at Bucky, lying prone on his own bed just a few feet away.

“Yeah Steve?”

“Remember the cough syrup you used to bring me?”

“Jesus, yeah.” Bucky said with a wistful sigh. “That stuff would take care of your cough, alright, and just about anything else you had wrong with you. What was in it?”

“Alcohol, marijuana, chloroform...” Steve recited, thinking back to the small glass bottles that Bucky would bring him without clear explanations of how he got them. “It worked, is all that mattered. Slept for days.”

“Well, you would. Tasted horrible, but I bet we could use some of that now.” He wheezed out something that might have been a laugh or a cough.

They woke without memory of falling asleep. Steve felt like he had been fighting all night and Bucky recalled all too well the feeling of being pulled from cryofreeze. Everything hurt and felt too stiff.

“Christ, we’re a mess.” Bucky said between coughs.

* * *

 

Slowly, miraculously, they got better. Breaths came easier, the coughs and sneezes were fewer and farther between, and after two more days, Steve and Bucky began to feel like their old selves again.

“Well, we kept our part of the bargain.” Steve said to Coulson. “Bucky and I feel better and we show no more signs of infection according to Dr. Cho. All our vital signs are within our normal limits. We should be good to go, right?”

“48 more hours, Cap.” Coulson said, in his most authoritarian tone. “You agreed to the terms. We need to make sure.”

“But sir, tomorrow’s December 24th. We really are fine now.”

“What are you planning to do for Christmas, Steve?” Coulson asked.

“Stark’s having us over.” Steve said. Even as he spoke, he could hear the flaws in his logic—he would be putting the whole team at risk by going to a party while they might still be infectious. “Right.” He said. “We’ll stay.”

“We will?” Bucky said, stopping his pacing in the background to join the conversation.

“Only 48 more hours, Buck.” Steve said.

“But it’s Christmas, Steve.” Bucky said shaking his head. “You don’t want to spend it locked up in here, do you? That’s terrible.”

“What?” Steve said, looking around. “It’s not so bad. We got a nice view, and you’re here. That’s better than just about every Christmas I had growing up. We had terrible views from all our old places.” Bucky’s expression softened only by a hair, but it was enough for Steve. He returned to Coulson and nodded. “We’ll stay.”

The following morning the staff dared to enter, sealed off in hazmat suits, with strings of Christmas lights, which they hung around the room.

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, really.” Bucky said, when they carted in the step later. “Here, let me.” And so Bucky helped to hang the lights, careful not to get too close to any equipment, while Steve took the tinsel tree out of the box and assembled it.

“Who sent this?” Steve asked, while he fitted the little red skirt around the base of the tree and stuck the parts together.

“All the people who work here, sir. This stuff usually goes on the third floor, but we thought it would cheer you up more.” Their nurse said, muffled from inside her suit.

“That’s really nice of you…”

“Claire.” She supplied her name while she fiddled with a particularly stubborn knot in the string of lights.

“Well, thanks Claire.”

“You’re welcome, Cap.” They finished decorating in silence, while Steve made a mental note to give back however he could to floor three when he was finally out.

* * *

 

The next morning, it took Steve a moment to acclimate himself to his surroundings before he opened his eyes. Instead of the stark silence of the empty research facility that he was expecting, he was greeted by the faint sound of carols playing and the wafting scent of freshly baked cookies. It was like being transported to a different world.

When he sat up, he saw a pile of gifts and cards stacked under the tree. The cookies sat on top, each one shaped like a different person and decorated with icing that reflected their Avengers suits—the notecard on top had message in neat, loopy handwriting:   
_Dear Steve and Bucky,_  
          _Heard you were feeling under the weather, so we all got together and made you a get-well package. Afraid it got a bit out of hand. Hope you like it._  
 _Love from_    
Underneath were the signatures of all of the Avengers, including Pepper.  
The neatness of the presentation gave away her handiwork, this could have been orchestrated by none other than Pepper, Steve thought. He felt a rush of fondness for the team, branching out to the extensions of their family and friends in a way that he rarely allowed himself to feel.

"Hey, Bucky." Steve whispered.

"Huh?" Bucky asked, still deeply asleep, exhausted from the recovery.

"Look at what Santa left."

"No way." Bucky joined Steve under the tree and looked at the card on a large box. "This one's for you." He said, from St. Agnes Children's hospital. Steve's eyes shone bright, reflecting the lights in the tree.

"I visited a lot last year." Steve said. Inside the box was card after card, all hand made, with drawings and letters from the children that he visited, and the ones who looked forward to his visits in the future. Some sent pictures, or personalized artwork. Each card wished them a Merry Christmas and a speedy recovery. "I think they understand how we're feeling right about now." Steve placed a card featuring him and Iron Man back into the box and pressed a kiss to Bucky's cheek. "You should come with me next time."

"I don't know if I'm the kind of hero these kids oughtta see." Bucky said.

"Well," Steve pulled a stack of cards, smaller than his own but significant nonetheless, neatly tied together with a red ribbon, "If these are anything to go by you are exactly the kind of hero these kids want to see." He took Bucky's hand. "There's nobody I'd rather spend my Christmas with than you."

"Have a cookie." Bucky said, taking the red, white, and blue frosted figure before passing the plate to Steve.


	4. Baby It's Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set during the search for the Winter Soldier. Driven in from the cold, Bucky searches for comfort but does not believe it when he finds it.

Steve threw himself into the blissful heat of his apartment and thanked God for central heating. It was well below freezing outside and even with the warmth of his body, which ran hotter than the average, he was unprepared for the cold snap which flooded through the Atlantic seaboard in a merciless 24 hour sweep. He shed layer after layer: hat, coat, scarf, sweater, and by the time he was done a thin sheen of sweat beaded across his forehead.

So wrapped up was he in the process of extracting himself from the clutches of his clothing that he failed to notice the slight shift in the air around him, nearly undetectable to anybody but the most well trained in reading one's surroundings. Steve carried on and did not notice the way the floorboards squeaked in the next room over or the faint smell of another person, like the ghost of a memory. 

It was not until Steve rounded the corner into the kitchen that he found Bucky, snow pale and ice cold that he realized he was not alone. He sat on the floor, wrapped in a blanket from Steve's couch, with his feet in a pot of water.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, "What's going on?" 

"Frostbite." Bucky said, looking up at Steve from the ground. "Sorry to barge in like this." 

"It's okay." Steve said. "Wish you'd been around before now, but I'll settle." Steve sat where he was, not too close. "So why'd you come in now?" 

"It's cold." Bucky said. "I'll leave as soon as my feet stop tingling." 

"No." Steve said. It took all his strength not to reach out. He wanted to put a hand on Bucky's shoulder, to reassure him, to do anything but sit there and watch Bucky shiver. "You should stay. It's only getting colder out there. Do you even have a coat?" 

Bucky shook his head. "No. I can't say. Of course I have a coat, Steve. You worry too much, buddy. I'll be fine." 

"Your feet beg to differ." Steve said, glancing down at Bucky's pale toes in the pot full of water. 

They sat there in silence while Bucky continued to shiver. 

"Buck, you're not warming up." Steve said. 

"I'm used to freezing." Bucky said, as if that were an answer. He stared at Steve for a long time, then took a deep breath. "Sometimes I need a jump start to warm back up." 

"What do you mean?" Steve asked. He thought of jump cables and hot wiring a car. He didn't know if he had it in him to electrocute Bucky. Perhaps he could call Natasha in-- she would be able to do it, Steve had no doubt. Steve shook his head clear of the thought when Bucky spoke again. 

"It helps if somebody else lends me their body heat." Bucky said, looking down at the floor.

Steve knew this, of course. How many times had he and Bucky shared heat under their thin sleeping bags while they were in Europe together? This was nothing new to either of them. Steve laughed in relief, and Bucky looked at him with curiosity in his eyes. 

"Oh is that all? Jeeze, Buck. I thought it was going to be something awful. Can you walk?" Bucky nodded. "Okay, don't move for a sec." Steve said, and went to get towels to dab the water away from Bucky's feet before leading him to bed. 

They stripped down to nothing and got in bed. Steve held Bucky, putting as much of his bulk around him as possible, and holding him tight. He tried not to bury his face in the crook of Bucky's neck, tried not to smell his hair, or to remember how it felt to hold him like this but under other circumstances. Instead, he felt the cold of Bucky's skin and the way that his muscles were rigid while they stretched out there across the sheets where Steve had nightmare after nightmare. Eventually, after a long while, Steve felt Bucky relax into something like sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke in Steve's arms and felt every inch of the agony of this dream. This was the worst dream, because it felt so real. He was safe, home, loved. Steve was holding him, caring for him, and would never let him go. Bucky tucked himself against Steve a little harder and nuzzled against him. Maybe he could indulge in this dream a little while longer, if only for the sake of escaping the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped ahead, I highly recommend that you go back and look at the fic from December 2nd. It has been updated with an illustration by the excellent colorfulcandypainter that might make you smile!


	5. December 5th -- Christmas With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers fight an unusual adversary at Christmastime in order to rescue some kidnapped children.

"We got word last night that the abductions are part of an organized movement and not as random as we once believed." Fury said, pacing in front of the long table where the Avengers sat gathered, each holding their breath. For the past week, there had been no word from any law enforcement agency, domestic or international, on what or who might have been responsible for the mysterious circumstances involving the disappearances of children throughout the globe.

As a last resort, S.H.I.E.L.D. was brought in, and without a second glance at the paperwork, they called in the Avengers.

:"It is most peculiar," Thor said, leaning back and crossing his arms in his seat. "These incidents do not seem to be something a mortal man could accomplish, certainly not in one night."

"No. Not at all." Fury said.

"Recap, please? For the ones still trying to work out all the details?" Tony asked.

"Have you been sleeping in class, Tony?" Natasha asked.

"No. I'm just trying to figure out how one perp can be on three continents in one night." Tony said.

"We have some new information from forensics." Fury said, "He only has one foot. Or at least, we're going to assume that he has one foot, because only one human footprint was found at the scene of each crime. The other print left in the snow or dirt outside the houses was a cloven hoof."

There was a general murmuring around the table at this new revelation. "This sound like anything you ever heard about before?" Steve leaned to his left and asked Bucky.

"Why did you ask Bucky that?" Sam asked, as if trying to make a point.

"Does it sound like HYDRA?" Steve rolled his eyes.

"Kidnapping? Yeah. That sounds like them. Amputation and adding weird body parts to people... well." Bucky held up his shiny left hand and waved his fingers at Steve in a silent answer. "It might be. It might be some sicko playing a joke. Doesn't this ring a bell for you?" Bucky asked.

"Thought that was obvious." Steve said.

"Excuse me." Natasha's voice cut through the silence. "How do we know this isn't an organized effort. Could be three or more groups acting in sync in different locations, right?"

"The thought has occurred to us."

"Do we know anything about the victims' families?" Tony asked. "Has any ransom been demanded?

"Not yet." Fury said. "Look, team. This is all well and good, but if I wanted this kind of thinking, I could ask Jimmy who gets my coffee. He's good at this junior league stuff. I want you to think outside the box."

"Krampus." Bucky said.

"Excuse me?" Fury said.

"It's almost Christmas time. The Austrian legend Krampus takes naughty children. He's like the unfriendly St. Nicholas. My mother used to tell me if I was bad I would get stuffed into Krampus's sack."

"That couldn't have been good for your mental health." Sam said.

"What? No lump of coal." Tony asked.

"Are you kidding? There were four kids in my family and we were all bad. We would have done it on purpose just to get four lumps of coal." That shut everybody up. Sometimes Steve wondered if Bucky talked about growing up in poverty on purpose just to make Tony quiet.

"So anyway," Bucky went on," Krampus was this legend meant to scare kids into being good. He had one human foot and a cloven hoof, and big horns and a long tongue. He was supposed to be a scary motherfucker. If you were bad, he would take you away and drown you or eat you or something worse but nobody ever told us what."

"That's gross." Clint said.

"Tomato Tomahto." Bucky shrugged.

"And ridiculous." Natasha said. "An Austrian legend from the turn of last century? How can that be kidnapping actual, real-live children?"

"You ever hear of an inspiration?" Bucky asked.

"Okay, enough." Fury said. "Barnes, it's a good idea. I want you to look up as much information on Krampus as you can and get it to me ASAP. Romanov, get me the files on these abducted kids. Anything that might give us motive or a connection. Steve, help Barnes and wipe that smug look off your face. Thor, ask your friends if they have any leads for us, please. Everybody else, make yourselves useful."

They hopped to their tasks, as much to avoid Fury's glare as because they were genuinely interested, with the exception of Bucky, who cracked his knuckles and withdrew his StarkPad from his bag with gusto.

"What's got you looking so merry?" Steve asked. "Seriously, you might want to tone it down. There are kidnapped children in the balance here."

"Right." Bucky said, settling his face back into a more somber and respectable mask. "It's just, I used to hate the holidays. I lived in fear of that Krampus story. It was hell for me. And now I might actually be able to go toe-to-toe with somebody dumb enough to take it on as a moniker? How great would that be? Talk about therapy!" Bucky said, letting a little of his glee leak back into his expression.

"Well that's not bad motivation." Steve said.

 

* * *

 

How Bucky ended up dropped from the Quinjet in a Santa costume, he did not know-- well, sure he knew. He was careful these days to be able to always trace the steps from any mission from start to finish because he liked to know the exact linear progression if things and here it was:

1\. Thor contacted Heimdall  
2\. Heimdall told them that their horned friend was currently taking his hostages back to a housing facility in Austria.  
3\. Further research, by the good people at S.H.I.E.L.D. told them that this was part of a human trafficking ring that they had been trying to trace for months.  
4\. That was all they needed to get the go-ahead from the U.N. to move.  
5\. Bucky picked out a Santa suit and ripped off the left arm, because he was nothing if not festive and intimidating.

"You sure about this, Buck?" Steve asked as they flew low over the drop point.

"'Course I'm sure." He raised his volume just a little higher. "Thanks again for letting me take point on this one, boss." He said to Fury.

"You took point yourself, Barnes. Good work. Go finish it." Fury said with a nod. Bucky nodded back.

"Well, I meant about the whole Santa suit." Steve said, before he pulled Bucky into a kiss.

"What?" Bucky asked when they parted. "Too much?" He and Steve made the jump together and landed almost silently on the roof.

"Natasha, Sam," Bucky said into his comm. "We've landed. You're good to go."

"I copy. On the ground and moving." She said.

"Ho ho ho." Sam said. "On the way, boys."

With a crunch of ice and metal, Bucky ripped the grate from the air duct and he and Steve slipped inside. The metal pipes were wide, but so were their shoulders, and the crawl toward the room where the hostages were housed turned out to be slow and laborious. Steve took his time, inching through with Bucky at his six. There was no turning around in such a cramped space.

When they arrived, the children were sleeping, each in a matching set of pajamas, complete with their own IV drip, keeping them comfortably unconscious. Steve felt a chill run down him at the sight and crossed the room in three strides to check the contents of the bags attached to the IV lines. It was a benign mixture of sedatives, nothing addictive or toxic. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

Sam and Natasha arrived with similar expressions on their faces and nobody on their heels. Sam pulled a vial of epinephrine from his bag and administered it to the oldest hostage.

"Shhh," he said, in a soothing voice when the kid woke up, breathless and panicked. "We're going to get you out of here. It's going to be okay. I'm Sam. This is Natasha. That's--" He broke off when he saw the look on her face. "Right, you know who that is. And that's his partner."

"Santa?" She asked.

"Well, for today he's Santa, but usually we call him Bucky." Sam said. She nodded. "What's your name?" Sam asked.

"Sarah." She said.

"You know if anybody is coming back anytime soon, Sarah."

She shook her head and glanced at the IV bag.

"Okay, let's get them out of here." Steve said.

It went off without a hitch. Almost. Just as they were loading the last of the children into the helicarrier, waiting in stealth mode outside the premises of the facility,

A great roar split the air around them and the children gave terrified shrieks from inside the craft. Steve and Bucky pivoted and saw exactly what they expected to see. The expectation did not make the reality any less absurd. Before them stood a horned, hairy and matted, cloven hoofed and very angry looking, well, devil. 

Sure, Steve saw aliens tear a hole through the sky over New York. He watched his best friend come back from the dead. He saw all of Norse Mythology come to life, as real and plain as the nose on his face and he accepted it. Here, however, was a piece of Bucky’s childhood, and he had to do what he always did in such circumstances: tuck it away into that part of his brain that saved things for later. He only hoped Bucky could do the same. 

One look at Bucky told him that would not be a problem. Bucky had a grin on his face as though Christmas had come early. 

The Krampus looked at Bucky, studying him. He seemed to have noticed the same unusual expression in Bucky’s features. He was probably not used to anybody looking at him with anything but terror. 

That moment of confusion cost Krampus the battle. Bucky was on him in moments, dismembering him, limb from limb, taking the Krampus apart. Steve waited for the creature to put up a fight, for any sign that Bucky might be in danger, but it became apparent that the fight was not evenly matched. Bucky finished it off in a matter of minutes. 

“Well.” Bucky said, standing up and brushing a clump of Krampus hair off from his suit. “That was underwhelming.” 

“You feel better?” Steve asked. Bucky looked down at the soupy remains of the creature in the snow. 

“Yeah, Stevie. I really do.” Bucky said, with his Santa hat at a jaunty angle. 

They returned to New York and began the process of returning the children to their homes. The news article said nothing about the Krampus, only the international human trafficking ring and the evidence of genetic experimentation found in the lab at the facility. It was a macabre case, if ever there was one, but the happy ending made for a good Christmas headline. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that each of the titles for this project is a Christmas song, or a play on a Christmas song. This one really is a lesser-known song by Spinal Tap. Go listen to it. You will not be disappointed. Here's a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWKN-EYFxbs


	6. December 6th -- The Nutcracker Suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set Post Winter Soldier, Steve takes a mostly recovered Bucky to the ballet as a special Christmas gift.

On stage, Clara lifts the nutcracker high into the air and leaps. Steve has forgotten everything around him except the dancers on stage and the music rising from the orchestra pit and Bucky’s knee which bounces next to him. The nervous bouncing has not stopped since they sat down. Still, Steve stares on. This is like something out of a dream. He has never been to a ballet before.

In art school, Steve drew. He watched ballerinas stretch and complain about their feet in the hallways sometimes, but that was as close as he came to attending their performances. He forgot about ballet after that.

Some of the dancers Steve knew when he took his Captain America show on the road were ballerinas, maybe, at one point. They used to crack jokes about it to each other, or to themselves in makeup smudged mirrors. “This sure is why my mama paid for all those ballet shoes.” They’d say before packing their bras with tissues and putting on another coat of lipstick.

Then he met Natasha and ballet took on a darker meaning. He has never seen Natasha without her shoes, and he imagines he would not want to. She did not chose that path, nor any other path in her youth. Steve assumes it is the kind of thing she feels bitter about. He would not blame her.

It was an unlikely thing that makes her smile in a real way, all the way up to her eyes, when he asked if he should buy Bucky a ticket to the show tonight, and her voice almost cracked at the idea, he got on the phone right away.

So why, Steve wonders now that he is sitting in the plush red velvet covered seat, wearing his nicest dress suit, is Bucky clenching his fists and his jaw as if he is about to go into battle? Was the box seating too much? Steve sets his hand down over Bucky’s and feels him relax, just barely.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asks. Bucky shushes him.

“Waiting.” Bucky says once the music swells to enough of a crescendo to mask his whisper.

“For what?” Steve asks. He should have put an extraction plan in place for this.

“My cue.” Bucky says.

“Bucky…”

“The Nutcracker comes on stage after this piece.” Bucky says.

“Oh.” Steve says. This could be dangerous territory, if Bucky has bad associations with this ballet. He thought he would have said something, then again, maybe the music triggered the memory. Steve tries to be kind when he asks, “So you’ve seen this before?”

Bucky breaks his gaze from the stage and fixes Steve with a flat look, the one that says _there’s a lot you need to catch up on._

“Yeah, Steve. I was in this twelve times.” The nutcracker dances across the stage, sword drawn and begins a furious dance battle with the rat king. The Nutcracker is sublime. “I was him.”

“Right.” Steve nods. “Of course.”

 

They watch the rest of the ballet in silence. Every once in a while, Bucky’s hand tightens around Steve’s especially during the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Steve keeps one eye on the stage and one eye on Bucky, careful to watch for any signs of distress, any flashbacks or prolonged blankness. Instead, he sees delight, fondness, and terrible sadness. In a word: nostalgia.

He sits in his seat without moving through intermission and only rises to give a standing ovation.

“We could go backstage, if you like.” Steve says.

“Why?” Bucky asks.

“If you want to say anything to the dancers.”

“Oh.”

“Just a thought. You seemed like you enjoyed it. You could say so.”

“No, it’s fine. That was fine.”

They leave without stopping in backstage.

When they arrive at home, Steve finds that he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know what for. They go about their evening in silence and only speak once they are in bed.

“I liked the ballet.” Bucky says, once they are under the covers and the lights are turned off.

“I’m glad Bucky.”

“Not just tonight. Tonight was good, but I mean, I like the ballet. Before.”

Steve feels the adrenaline shoot through him. Bucky doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t talk about the time he spent without his memories. It is understood: they both know some details, some specifics, it was a vague shape of bad that happened and is best not dwelt upon in painful extremes. They leave it alone.

It is hard to imagine that there could be something that Bucky enjoyed about that time. Here, however, is something good, dancing to him from the darkness in satin slippers.

“There’s another performance tomorrow.” Steve suggests.

“Okay.” Bucky says, and moves closer to Steve, draping an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”


	7. December 7th -- Snow Day!

Guess who has great behinds!   
... Steve and Bucky. 

Guess who FELL behind!  
... Me!

I'll have some fresh new fic for you tomorrow. In the meantime thank you as always for sticking with me. Each and every one of you are a gift to me.


	8. All I Want For Christmas Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set Pre-CA:TFA. Steve and Bucky spend their first Christmas together in Steve's apartment and establish some new traditions.

“No gifts.” Steve said of their first Christmas together in Steve’s rat-trap apartment, which rattled every time a strong wind blew across the window panes. They had no tree that year and all of Mrs. Rogers decorations, her precious handmade lace and glass bobbles stayed put in the box of things they did not sell. Christmas had been hers they were going to leave it that way.

If it should have been mournful, it wasn’t. The carols that echoed down the hallway from the neighbor’s apartments were jolly enough. They had pie at the automat. The season was around them in a way that seeped into every step they took like water into their shoes—impossible to shake off. It spread its cheer like a disease. Even Steve couldn’t stop smiling.

“What’re you looking so happy about?” Bucky asked on the evening of December 24th.

“Nothin’ much.” Steve said. “Just that tomorrow’s Christmas.”

“Thought we weren’t doin’ Christmas this year.” Bucky said.

“Seems like we haven’t been given much of an option. You know? It’s happening anyway. Might as well. Anyway, I have something I want to give you.”

“Jesus, Steve. You said no gifts. I don’t have anything for you.” Bucky said. He had the same put out look that he got whenever Steve decided to rush into something half-cocked.

“Relax, this’ll be no skin off your nose. Never knew a man to be so dower about getting a present.” Steve said.

“Only when I can’t return the favor.”

* * *

 

Bucky watched Steve sketch into the evening. He drew the socks hanging up over the radiator, which were not quite Christmas stockings, but they made for a good joke. They talked, just shooting the shit about nothing too festive. It was a relief, in a way, not to force anything. It was enough to just be. 

Every year, the same charade played out: Bucky went to holiday parties, he went to dinners, he went home or to Steve’s house, and every year he indulged family member after family member in the same conversation: When you gonna get yourself out to Hollywood. Get into the pictures like that mug demands. _Never. Steve’s not going._ When you gonna get yourself a real job? Stop pretending lugging crates around will get you anywhere in life? _Never. Pays the bills for two._ When you gonna get yourself a nice girl? Settle down? _Never. Already got me somebody. Trouble is, he doesn’t seem to know it._

This year, he was spared those endless mental responses hidden by a tight smile and a firm handshake. It was a mercy in so many ways that Steve put up a flat refusal to participate in any Christmas effort. So why now? What was this sudden shift? Bucky leaned back in his chair although the springs poked him just wrong. Steve’s profile was illuminated by the glow from all the lights outside, so much brighter than usual. Maybe it was best not to think too hard.

* * *

 

Steve woke up the next morning, a little bleary eyed, with the feeling that something important was going on. The realization doused him like a cold bucket of water. Christmas, but not Christmas. Not to mention he mentioned something to Bucky already so he had an idea that something was up. Steve rose and dressed, feeling nothing more than the desire to crawl back into bed.

When he shuffled out to the living room, Bucky was waiting.

“Think fast.” He said, and tossed him an orange.

“Morning.” Steve said. “Where’d we get these?”

“Around.” Bucky said. “Tradition, you know.”

“Buck.” Steve said, not quite annoyed.

“What? Maybe I wanted an orange. Fact is, we got ‘em. Eat.”

Steve shrugged and dug his thumb nails into the tough flesh of the fruit. The aroma of citrus filled the air and the juice ran down his fingers, sticky and wet. Steve watched as Bucky stuck a piece of his own orange between his lips and then averted his eyes. 

He got so used to doing that, bouncing his eyes off of Bucky like if he stared too hard or for too long he might get stuck and never be able to look anywhere again. He thought that it might not be such a bad thing, if Bucky were the last thing he saw, the only thing he saw. He might not mind that so much. He would only mind if Bucky didn’t like it. He would find out what Bucky thought, one way or another, soon enough.

The terrible thing about Christmas, Steve learned, was that it stopped being Christmas, and not just because he said “No presents. No tree.” It stopped being Christmas well before his mother died. It lost that faint, fine glow somewhere around the time he started seeing the worried looks on parent’s faces at the shopping centers instead of the rapture of the kids. He started to notice the way the snow looked slushy and brown, instead of glittery like sugar. Somewhere along the line, Steve Rogers grew up, and Christmas lost its charm. The relief now was that he was free to admit it.

The orange was nice though. It tasted like the good times.

* * *

 

Night drew on, early and cold. Outside, the streets were so deserted that a bullet shot right down the middle wouldn’t hit a thing, but inside life reigned abundant and loud. Bucky sat next to Steve, comfortable in his thick woolen socks, ensconced in a science fiction novel while Steve fiddled with the radio.

 He got the station set and went to the cupboard for the bourbon. It was cheap, the kind that burned like acid going down, but it did the trick, and Steve didn’t ever need much. He hardly drank it with the exception of a cough or a bad day or when he really wanted it. Bucky glanced up from his page at Steve and the two cups and the bottle and smiled his little half-smile. That was the kind of thing that made Steve really want to drink.

“What should we drink to?” Bucky asked, setting down his book.

“I don’t know.” Steve said. He handed Bucky the glass. “The new year. That’s what’s done, right?”

“Right.” Bucky said and raised his glass. “To the new year.” They drank and managed not to pull any faces.

For a while, Steve was able to fool himself into believing that this was just like any other night. He and Bucky sat on the couch together, relaxing and drinking, just existing in each other’s presence with words on the tip of their tongue that neither one was likely to say. After another glass, the words bubbled up, the way they always did.

“Buck, I’m going to give you something. If you don’t like it, if you don’t want it, all you have to do is say and I’ll take it back like it never happened, okay?”

“Is it a pair of underpants?”

“No.”

“Then I’m going to like it, Steve.” Bucky said.

“Fine.” Steve said. “Close your eyes.”

“Why do my eyes have to be—“

“Just close ‘em.” Steve said, laughing. Bucky did as he was told and closed his eyes. Steve wondered why he asked Bucky to do that the minute they were shut because it was no easier with his eyes closed than it was when they were open. He leaned in close and put his hands on either side of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky flinched at the unexpected touch and it made Steve’s heart sink all the way down to the bottom of his shoes, but Bucky didn’t say a word about stopping so Steve pressed on.

When their lips touched, it was softer than Steve expected. It was also harder and scratchier and while he expected it to feel like a world-altering, life changing event, all it really felt like doing was bumping his face up against Bucky’s face. He backed away after a moment and looked Bucky over. His eyes were still closed, eyebrows raised as high as they would go.

“You, uh, you can open ‘em again.” Steve said.

“So that was.”

“Your present.” Steve said, defiant. He thought Bucky might laugh at him, like a girl might if he tried it on one of the dates Bucky was always trying to get him to go on. He didn’t think he could take that.

“If I give you one, are you gonna sock me in the jaw?” Bucky asked.

“No.” Steve said, though the way he said it sounded like a yes.

“’Cause you look like a wet cat right now.”

“Wait.” Steve said. “You don’t mind?”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t be asking for another, would I?” Bucky said. Steve shrugged and said he guessed not, so they kissed again. And then again.

The way Bucky kissed was different than in the movies. It was sloppier and wet and it made Steve feel something he didn’t know he could feel. Simply put, it was better. Bucky had a kind of desperation in the way he kissed. It didn’t hurt, and he didn’t push too hard or go to fast, but Steve felt it in the way he pulled them together and bunched his hands into his clothes and moved.Steve watched Bucky give a lot of girls a lot of goodnight kisses from the respectful distance of the sidewalk and no. It never looked like this.

“Steve.” Bucky said, breaking away just enough to brush his lips against Steve’s while he spoke.

“Yeah?”

“I should. Maybe we should take a breather. Don’t want to go doing nothing we regret tomorrow.” Bucky said, and when their eyes met, there was something heavy in them that Steve wanted.

“Do you regret it?” Steve asked, and just because he could, because Bucky hadn’t said no, or pushed him away, Steve traced the line of Bucky’s cheek with his fingertips and savored the expression on his face when he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

“No.” Bucky said like a secret into the air between them. His eyes opened again and met Steve’s. “I don’t.”

“Then kiss me some more.” Steve said. Bucky nodded and met his lips again. Steve found himself wondering what he had been doing with his life up until that night, with all the hours that he spent not kissing Bucky Barnes. He resolved not to let another day go by when he did not demand as many kisses as he could get.


	9. December 9th -- Christmas Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay Bar AU. Steve, Bucky, and friends work at a multi-level gay bar and night club where pressures of the job keep interrupting romantic intrigue between coworkers. Oh. And Tony Stark and Thor are both drag queens.

“What _is_ this shit?” Bucky yells to Steve. They stand right inside the doorway, feeling their hands and toes go numb from the draft no matter how many times they try to trade off for the warm spot by the heating vent. The Tower is a six story night club housed in an old as hell building that has “character.” That’s somebody’s bullshit idea of a word for drafty-ass doors that don’t seal right and leave your bouncers shivering while your patrons scoot right by to the coat check which just a stop away from the liquor and the dance floor—they won’t be cold at all. Oh no. Just your employees.

“The shit” that Bucky was referring to, however, is not the cold. He’s been used to that since October. He’s asking Steve about the weird as crap music pumping through the speakers. It’s like Rhodey, their DJ, decided to take a nap. Some sad-sounding Indie boy sings “I’m a Christmas Unicorn with a uniform made of gold.”

“Oh shit shit shit. Buck—you’ve gotta see it. I saw them testing it earlier. It’s—“But Steve doesn’t get the words out. It’s for the drag show. Suddenly, all the mysteries of the universe are answered: This is one of Tony’s. No, his bad, _Iron Maiden’s_ acts _._ Well, Bucky thinks, it’s certainly strange enough to be Iron Maiden’s brainchild, though the genre is off. She usually goes for classic rock standards. Bucky can see the stage from here. She’s come out wearing a tinsel bikini and a large, very realistic unicorn mask that covers her whole head all the way down to her shoulders.

Okay, Bucky nods. He’s not here to judge. He’s here to check IDs and throw out drunks. That’s his job. He’s good at his job. He’s the scariest motherfucker in this joint—really, he’s the only scary motherfucker in this joint, except for maybe Natasha. She’s pretty scary. Steve? He’s just muscles. Bucky thinks he’s more of a draw for the club than anything else.

“Who let Tony work this up?” Bucky yell-asks at Steve, eyes darting from Steve’s face to the stage, where Iron Maiden is prancing around, still wearing that stupid fucking mask.

“Who _let’s_ Iron Maiden do anything?” Steve asks. Bucky shrugs. It’s a fair point, because Tony is the darling of the place allowed to practice any and every whim that goes through that genius brain. Bucky and Steve appreciate the set from their spot by the door. A few college kids stagger in with shady looking IDs, but the IDs are valid so according to the rules of the club, they are allowed inside.

Around midnight, a fight breaks out near the bathrooms. Bucky rolls his eyes because it’s always around this time and it’s always by the bathrooms. Something about the long lines and full bladders makes people temperamental over there.

“Nat, will you cover me?” Bucky asks as he makes his way over to the scene. It’s a bigger mess than he realizes.

Like a gazelle in stilettos, Natasha takes his place at the door in a seamless arch of movement. Any girls who show up in the next few minutes aren’t going to know what hit them. With his way ahead clear and Steve and Nat watching his back, Bucky heads into battle.

The battle is actually three deeply inebriated bros and one of the drag queens who stepped in to break it up. By the time he gets there, Bucky might as well pack it in and head back to the door because the drag queens take no shit and get things done. He learned this on day one at the club. She’s got this handled.

Bucky hauls the worst offender from the brawl outside, still slobbering and slurring his words, spilling them down his shirt where most of a drink went before and then he tosses his friends after him. He’s never seen them around before.

“What do you think?” Steve asks.

“They were just here to fuck shit up.” Bucky says. “Not likely to come back. Got more than they bargained for with Miss Assguard.” He hears Natasha give a low chuckle while she passes him. “Hey thanks, Nat.” He says. “And will you give Miss A. A shot of whatever on me?”

“Sure thing.” She says, already heading back to her spot behind the bar.

“Jesus, I hope it’s not one of _those nights._ ” Bucky says. Steve nods. He knows exactly what Bucky means. The Tower is a six story complex with a separate bar and a different theme on each floor. It’s chaos on the best of nights, but nothing brings out the worst in people like full moons and holidays.

“I’ve got a present for you.” Steve said.

“Really?” Bucky asks. “You didn’t have to do that. The staff party’s not until Monday.”

“I can’t give it to you until we close.” Steve says, and oh does that make Bucky’s imagination whirl. Could it be that two months of not-so-subtle suggestions and innuendos from everybody they work with have finally paid off? Have all of Bucky’s clandestine looks and secret smiles made an impact? Steve is certainly much less icy around Bucky than he was when he started working at the club.  

“Consider my interest piqued.” Bucky says.

“Hey Bucky.” Sam says, leaning over the side of the bar nearest to signal for him.

“What’s up?” He asks. Somebody’s getting fresh in the men’s. Want to go check it out? Bucky beams at Sam.

“Do I ever!” He says. “After that can I get a root canal?” He asks, still smiling. He turns back to Steve and lets the smile drop.

“Back in five.” He says.

“Hey.” Steve says back. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Sorry Sam.” Bucky apologizes for his sarcasm. Sam’s eyes flit to Steve who is checking a couple of IDs under his black light.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says.

Bucky stalks off to the bathrooms with an extra weight of crankiness in his steps. A silver lining: never getting laid has made him a more intimidating bouncer. And yes, indeed, those are two sets of boots in an unmistakable position inside that stall. He raps hard on the stall door, brushed steel, with his metal fist—because what’s the use in having a metal prosthetic if you’re not going to use it?

“Uh. It’s busy?” A voice drifts out.

“Yeah. I know.” He says. “you gotta clear out.”

“Can we. Like. Have a minute?” Another voice asks while the first one giggles like Bucky might not be able to hear. This pisses him off. He’s standing right out there with a tiny sheet of metal between them. Of course he fucking hears and he knows exactly what they are doing.

“No. Pull your pants up and get out.” Bucky says.

“ _I think we’re in trouble.”_ The first voice whispers.

“ _We wouldn’t be in trouble if you’d just—“_ And then there’s a moan. Bucky slams his open palm on the door again. “Okay, okay, we’re going.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds.” Bucky says and leaves the bathroom but stays by the door to make sure that two drunk idiots making heart eyes at each other stumble out within their timeframe. They do. Bucky returns to his post to see Steve holding back laughter so hard that it looks physically painful.  That’s as rare a sight as anything, so Bucky knows he must look like somebody crapped on his cookies.

“Next one’s your turn.” Bucky tells Steve who nods. They accept the cover charge from a few folks they see around now and then.

“Hey Jane.” Steve says. “Darcy. How’s it going? No, put that away, like I’m going to make you pay.”

“You sure?” Jane asks and glances at Bucky as if to make sure it’s really alright.

“’Course.” Steve says. “Just remember to tip.”

“Thanks, you’re a dream.” Darcy says and drags Jane upstairs to look for their friends.

“You just like them because they’re pretty.” Bucky teases Steve. Steve blushes but shrugs.

“Doesn’t hurt. Darcy’s sweet and Jane’s smart as a whip.” Steve says.

“Didn’t realize you knew them so well.” Bucky said.

“We hung out a few times. Back when Thor was going by Worothy.” Steve said.

“God, Thor’s had so many drag names I can’t even keep up.”

They have to put their conversation on hold as another guest, this one much less welcome, arrives.

“Fuck no, Zola.” Bucky says, crossing his arms and standing in his path. “What made you think it would be a good idea to come here?”

“Come on, boys. It’s the holidays.” Zola smiles at them, for all the good it does him.

Steve and Bucky exchange looks of disgust. It’s like this guy thinks they won’t remember all the times they had to kick him out for selling drugs. If it were weed, once or twice, it might slide, but Zola’s into weird shit. You can tell from his bug-eyes and weird as hell shaky smile.

“You’re holding up the line.” Steve says.

Zola fucks off without further argument, which means that he is either high already, or he’s looking for a weaker point of entry. Bucky slides over to Sam and delivers the word that the creep is snooping around. No need to send out a signal via radio; the news will be disseminated throughout the club in a matter of minutes this way.

It’s like this all night and it never lets up. They get slammed over and over by waves of patrons and Steve and Bucky never get a break at the same time. Hell, they hardly get breaks at all.

The worst are the spats and breakups. There is a screaming fight in the corner of the dancefloor: unintelligible, drunken sobbing, running mascara, wobbly high heels, and this is both parties involved because Bucky had the ill-advised career move of finding employment at a gay bar. Normally, it’s fine but now that he has seen lesbians fight, he has never been happier that this is not his fate.

Steve and Bucky both call “Not it!” as soon as it begins, but Steve was a fraction of a second quicker and Bucky winds up guiding the women out as gently and firmly as he can. He tries to make himself smaller and not make a scene with the metal arm. This really should have been Steve’s gig. Steve is better at feelings and crap, as impossible as that seems to Bucky. Shit, he just feels bad for these two.

Game face back on, he returns to his spot. Steve has a smile that seems out of place.

“What?” Bucky asks, feeling suspicious and self-conscious.

“Nothing. You did a good job with that.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you didn’t want to.” Bucky says.

“You’re fuckin’ right I didn’t.” Steve agrees.

They don’t hear another word from Zola throughout the course of the evening, which is a relief, although Bucky keeps a sharp weather eye out for him nonetheless.

Around two, the taxis roll up to take the drunk revelers home. Their exodus from The Tower is a long-awaited breath exhaled from the workers, no matter how much smiling they do while the cash is flowing, nobody is sad to see them go. Bucky, especially, is thinking about Steve’s promise of a present, and feels like he can’t believe he survived the night. It was brutal.

“You did good tonight, Iron Maiden.” Steve says. Bucky gives him a look from under his eyebrows as if to ask _really?_ Steve says under his breath to Bucky, once Iron Maiden is long out of ear shot, “I mean, it was kind of weird. But good.”

They make themselves useful cleaning up and stay longer than usual. Bouncers don’t have a lot of closing duties, but they find work tonight, just sticking around. Normally, Bucky would be desperate to go home, but there is adrenaline buzzing through his skin from Steve’s proximity alone. He just wants to be around him.

They take their shift shot together. Natasha pours them something blue and strong into neon plastic shot glasses.

“Eye contact everybody. Drink like you mean it.” She says. She, Sam, Steve, Bucky, Rhodey, Iron Maiden, and Miss Assguard peer at each other over their shot glasses, each making eye contact with the other before they slam their drinks back.

Steve and Bucky hang back when everybody else clears out. It is not the first time that Bucky has been all alone at The Tower. He has locked up before, but it is usually a chore he likes to avoid. Tonight, it’s not so bad. They make sure every floor looks alright, and they all do, and then Steve’s face splits into a wide grin.

“Can I show you?” He asks.

“Yeah.” Bucky says.

Steve takes him out back, into the alley and this is not exactly what Bucky was expecting. They could have done this on their break if Steve just wanted something quick and dirty, after all. But that’s not what this is. Steve’s looking like he’s got something bigger than that in mind, and Bucky realizes, when Steve puts his hands on either of Bucky’s shoulders and spins him around to look at the brick wall behind him that, yes, Steve did have something bigger in mind.

“Holy fuck.” Bucky says. “Steve, that’s.” and he runs out of words, because it’s funny, it’s beautiful, it’s… well, it’s _him._

At least three stories high, in a mural that reaches half-way up the building. He’s got the scowl that he knows he wears all the time. The one that scares off assholes and attracts the people who think they like bad boys. His metal arm is on full display, flexing. He’s got a Santa hat on his head, because why the hell not, right? And next to it all, it says. “Merry Christmas Winter Soldier”

“I didn’t ask. So if you want me to get rid of it—“

“I want you to leave it up until July!” Bucky says. “It’s unreal.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Bucky says. And now he’s got to do it. Now there’s nothing stopping him. “Come here.” He says, and Steve does, so he pushes Steve up to the wall that he turned into art and kisses him for everything he’s worth and Steve kisses back like this is just what he planned.

“Want to go back inside?” Bucky asks and Steve pulls him back for another kiss, slower this time, while he nods, yes. They head back in, lock the door behind them, and somehow, lightheaded and giddy with the thought of it, make it up to the third floor, where the couches are lush and overstuffed and all the lighting is soft, covered by gauzy red curtains. The cameras have been off for hours.

“Merry Christmas.” Bucky says before he settles down with Steve and gives him a long awaited present of his own.


	10. December 10th -- Blue Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter Solider era. Bucky remembers Christmases past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing yesterday's post. You get two updates today to make up for it! <3

Inside the tank, the box, the window, he had a lot of time to think. Sometimes he thought about nothing at all and sometimes he thought his mind was so filled up with thoughts that they crawled around like ants, building his brain up like a hive full of new tunnels. Sometimes he just wondered what day it was. It was cold and so he decided it was winter. It was always winter, even though sometimes when they let him out it was summer or spring. Sometimes when they let him out it was a different year than the one when they put him away.

When he thought, he liked to think about Christmas. Not every Christmas, just some of the Christmases. He liked to think about the Christmases that still smelled like ham and pine trees if he thought real hard. He liked the ones that didn’t have too many cigarette burns in the background. He could still remember most of the important things.

He always remembered Steve.

Steve, when they were twelve: Their families walked home from midnight mass for as far as they could together before they had to turn away to their separate buildings. They were bleary eyed, but lit up with the cold and the feeling of something out of the usual happening. Bucky thought, for one wild moment that he wanted Steve to stay over, and that it was insane, an impossibility, because Steve had his own Christmas to wake up to in the morning.

Bucky believed that he would rather give his presents back if he could wake up and see Steve in the morning instead. He didn’t say anything about it to Steve, mostly because Steve wouldn’t be getting a whole lot of presents in the morning either way.

 

Steve, when they were fifteen: His collar had come off from his dress shirt and been sewn on again inside out because it was so worn out it looked better that way. His pants were patched and repatched. He lost some weight since autumn because his mama had taken a pay cut at the hospital and Steve refused to touch a bite of their food until she ate her fill. He was a stubborn mule that way—a stubborn skinny mule, but he was the handsomest fella in any joint he stepped in.

An unfriendly, loudmouthed, boulder of a boy who attended school in the year above them, if attendance was what you wanted to call it, brushed past them with far more force than necessary at a party. His name was Bronson, and Bucky only remembered him because of what happened that night.

“Hey!” Steve called after him, and he turned to look with his squinty little eyes.

“What?”

“Aint’cha gonna apologize?”

“Oh.” Bronson sized them up. “Sorry there, Tiny Tim.” Maybe this asshole didn’t know what kind of powder keg he was smoking next to, or maybe he wanted to see just what would happen. Either way, Steve didn’t stand for that.

“That’s real fuckin’ literate for you, Bronson. Your mama read that to you?” Steve asked. Bronson replied with a string of insults and profanity that implied that he definitely hadn’t been reading any time lately. Steve turned away, disinterested, and got Bronson’s hand around his arm. He hauled around and punched him in the nose.

Sure, Bucky spent the rest of the party and December and January looking over his shoulder and watching Steve’s back like a hawk for Bronson and his buddies, but in that one moment, watching Steve sock that sucker in the face was the best present Steve could have given Bucky.

 

Steve, when they were eighteen: Sitting in their apartment together on their first Christmas morning that was really theirs—just the two of them. He watched Steve unwrap the new shirt he saved up to buy him. It was blue, like his eyes, and real quality. Steve was swallowed up by all that blue, too big for him, because he was so small even though everything about him was like a storm in the sea, so big and raging all the time.   
The blue filled Bucky’s lungs and his eyes; cold like a color. He thought through it, seeing Steve and imagining him in all the blue.


	11. December 11th -- Let it Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers have a snowball fight!

The snow falls in sheets so thick that Bucky and Steve can hardly see more than a few feet in front of them, and the assault rages on from every direction. They have fought in worse conditions, Bucky knows, but he’s not sure quite when or where.

“We’ve got to find cover.” Bucky says.

“We need to get to higher ground.” Steve argues just before he is hit and the force of the blow sends him reeling to the left into Bucky’s side.

“Aw shit! You see that?” Sam yells as he swoops by. “Please tell me somebody saw that.”

“I saw it.” Clint says through the comm.

“Yep. Good work Sam.” Natasha says.

“Good work?” Sam says with a triumphant cackle. “I just caught Cap with his shield down.”

“You know,” Natasha says in a tone that sounds downright deadly, “those new red wings are awfully flashy, Sam. Hard to miss even through this snow.”

Steve and Bucky hear the impact of the snowballs hitting Sam from all the way down on the ground. He groans, though he stays in the air. From the trajectory of the attack, Steve guesses Natasha is hiding in a patch of trees just south of him. Bucky is sure she is already on the move now that she has given her location away.

“Steve. We really need to move.” Bucky says. Just then, Iron Man flies by, arms laden with snowballs, and pelts them both with them.

“Bad spot, Cap. You realize you’re carrying a target, right?” They hear Tony say in their ears as he whizzes past.

Thor arrives just a moment later. He lands at their feet and powder flies from the place where his boots touch down.

“Have I missed the ice battle?” He asks, and his expression is so enthusiastic they hardly have it in them to correct him.

“Here, it is called a snowball fight.” Pietro says, stopping just for a minute to chuck a snowball at Thor as a demonstration.

“Yes. But I like the sound of ‘Ice Battle.’” Wanda says. She rises to the treetops where Vision is waiting and although it would be no trouble at all for either of them to hit, they each miss each other with their snow, which falls down on everybody beneath them, though it hardly matters. It is snowing hard enough that it all mixes together.

Though he was unsure about the terminology at first, Thor gets the hang of the event right away, scooping up snow and throwing some back at Pietro when he has a chance, though not much lands. Nothing ever sticks for long with him. The only one who consistently lands their target on him every time is Clint, all but untouchable in the branches of a pine tree with a huge stack of snowballs that he must have been compiling for hours before the game started.

Tony’s suit is as much a hindrance as it is a help to him. Sure, nothing sticks to him, but inside the suit, his hands lack the manual dexterity to make snowballs quickly. He ends up ducking and weaving through the air while Thor chases him, snow forgotten for some time, just flying for the sake of flight, until Natasha catches Tony a good one on the visor and he has to land.

Now that Tony is on the ground, he seems like a more reasonable target, and Steve takes his chance. He surges forward, prepared to spring and throw snow all over him, but feels himself pulled backward by a tug on the neck of his uniform, and a rush of cold floods down his back. He turns to see Bucky wearing a sly smile. His glove is still caked in white powder. This means war.

Steve picks him up launches him bodily into the snowbank where he disappears into the pile and reemerges with a look of pure determination. Rather than picking up his feet, he carves deep trenches through the snow on the ground as he stalks back to Steve. It is not lost on either of them that they have an audience. They’re going to put on a show now.

Steve runs back to the nearest tree, lures Bucky in, and shakes all of its contents down upon his opponent. When Bucky shakes himself off, he takes his time gathering up the snow around him in a methodical way and then pelts Steve with it for everything he has. Not for nothing is he one of the greatest snipers in history, and Steve is not the only one who can do this all day.

The rest of the team takes their cue from Cap and brings their A-game. It is the kind of training exercise they never knew they needed: a battle where none of them get hurt and they can all leave laughing at the end of the day.

They leave together, soggy and cold, but happier than any of them can recall being in a long time. When he gets home, Tony looks into purchasing one of those indoor ski hills that makes its own snow.

When they get home, Steve and Bucky take a warm shower together, light a fire, and forget what it means to be cold.

 


	12. Decembers 12 & 13 -- only an apology from the author

I apologize with all of my heart for not having fics for you today and yesterday. Business and illness have gotten the better of me. I'll do my best to make it up to you. Thank you all for bearing with me.   
This "write a fic a day" challenge I gave myself is no joke. I am glad I am trying, though.


	13. You're A Mean One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern Day, non-powered, college kids AU. During winter break, Steve and Bucky have a prank war as a means of courtship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a request from the incomparable Hansbekhart asking for a fic of them being gross boys, pranking each other, and talking a lot of shit. I hope I delivered!

It started simply enough. Steve woke up late with nowhere to be on his first day sans classes on the winter break. He trudged down the hall, yawning, mind blissfully blank, to the bathroom in the shoebox apartment he shared with his best friend since the beginning of the semester. Sure, the dorms were all well and good, but this neighborhood and a couple of boxes of ramen were a hell of a lot cheaper than the residence halls and a meal plan each. Steve and Bucky liked it. If the lack of rules and regulations went a bit to their heads sometimes, well, that was the price to be paid.

Steve went from a state of blissfully numb sleepiness, with no due dates or assignments hanging over his head to total and complete wakefulness in an instant. There was a squishy, slimy, substance coating the toilet seat, and he had not looked before planting is ass directly into it.

“Shit.” Steve said. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and savored the feeling of this nastiness. “Fuck.”

It was just soap, applied carefully and evenly in a thick layer to the entire toilet seat. There could only be one outcome of this, Steve thought as he hosed off in the shower. This meant war.

For the rest of the day, Steve thought little of the event. He drove to the store and found himself wandering through the aisles aimlessly for a while. Box stores being both a cure for boredom and a source of inspiration, he allowed his mind to wander while he looked through the brightly colored packages of food and food like products.

When he arrived home, opened a package of Oreos and painstakingly separated about half of the cookies, scooped out the frosting, and replaced it with toothpaste. He ate a few of the unsullied cookies and placed the box on the counter where Bucky would find it.

Bucky got home just as it was getting dark. The lights from the balconies across the way were gleaming through the gloom and into their living room.

“Hey asshole.” Steve said. It was not an attack, just one of their customary greetings.

“’Sup, shitlord?” Bucky asked.  
  
“How’d the history final go?”  
  
“Eh?” Bucky said, unlacing his boots by the front door. “Probably fine. Wish they woulda let me test outta that one, y’know?” He said. “It’s a fuckin’ waste of time.”  
  
“You’re a fuckin’ waste of time.”  
  
“So’s your face.” Bucky said, flicking some snow from the sleeve of his jacket in Steve’s direction. Steve threw a cushion from the couch at him in retaliation and clicked on the TV. Bucky let out a cheer from the kitchen.  
  
“Fuck yeah! You didn’t!”

“What didn’t I do?” Steve asked.

“Oreos, man.” Bucky said. “Good move.” He sat down next to Steve with the box, and took one of the cookies out. Steve watched Bucky in his peripheral vision while he twisted it apart, but turned his head at the last moment to catch the face he made when he licked the glob of toothpaste out of the middle with the enthusiasm of a small child. It was priceless.

“That’s for the toilet.” Steve said while Bucky’s mouth was still puckered in disgust before he ran to the kitchen sink to spit it out.

“I just thought you wanted me to have good breath.” Bucky said.

“What for?” Steve asked.

“This!” Bucky yelled, before tackling Steve back onto the cushions and licking his cheek in one long stripe from chin to forehead. Steve made an unintelligible sound and flailed his arms, jabbing at Bucky’s ribs, but not hard enough to get away. He didn’t really want to. This was the progression of things with them sometimes, all loud and raucous, with limbs ending up wherever they landed. Sometimes Steve’s eyes lingered for a while on Bucky’s lips, and sometimes he thought about what that might mean. Sometimes he stopped caring and just said what he wanted instead.

"Blow me, Barnes.” Steve said, trapped under Bucky’s weight. Bucky shrugged and looked at Steve for a minute, assessing. Steve flushed under Bucky’s gaze, though not at all from embarrassment.

“Okay.” He said. Steve undid the button on his jeans and Bucky did the rest of the work for him.

* * *

 

Two mornings later, Steve awoke to the beeping of his alarm clock, not for class, but for work. The art supply store didn’t have the widest selection, but they gave Steve a good discount on paint and canvases and the owner worked around his schedule for classes. Last year, when Steve caught pneumonia, far from firing him Mr. Erskine visited him in the hospital. Steve figured he could take a couple of extra shifts on his vacation for the store. He didn’t mind.

The bathroom was free of soap in any unusual places when he got ready this time. His morning routine was undisturbed by any hiccups and he was wondering if he and Bucky had reached a truce. They made no more mention of the soap, or the blow job. It was one of those things. Sometimes it happened, sometimes it didn’t. Steve finished his cereal and glanced absently down into the parking lot and noticed his car.

“Motherfucker.” Steve said.                                                                 

He ran to the cupboard, withdrew the box of food coloring, and selected the little teardrop shaped bottle of concentrated green. He stalked back into the bathroom and applied six drops to the bristles of Bucky’s toothbrush. Bucky would not wake up for a half hour or so. Steve had to leave it as it was and hope his message got sent.

With no time to waste unwrapping layer after layer of plastic wrap from his car, Steve dug through his bag for the exacto-knife tucked inside and slit the plastic along the edges of the door. He climbed inside with the plastic still clinging to the car and drove to work that way.

 

Bucky came to find him at the end of his shift. It had been a long one, now that holiday shopping season was fully in swing and Steve had to help people. Helping people was something that Steve enjoyed. Helping people _in retail_ was another matter entirely. They were in between rushes at the moment, and so Steve allowed the icy layer of professionalism to dissolve while his face was transfixed in the real display of horror that he felt all day.

“Shhh.” Steve said. “Don’t say anything.”

“Excuse me, young man. If I don’t like the way my oil painting looks, can I return it?” Bucky asked, in an uncanny impression of a number of real people Steve had dealt with in the last week. Steve vaulted over the small barrier between the back of the store and the front and punched Bucky hard in the arm.

“Don’t even, bitch.”

“Yeah? Or what, ass.” Bucky said, getting Steve in a headlock. From behind them they heard a delicate cough and straightened up as if they had both been electrocuted.

“Afternoon, James.” Peggy Carter said, with her posh English accent and a look of amused distain that she seemed to keep in reserve for whenever she was around the two of them together.

“Uh, hey Peggy.” Bucky said. He flashed what would have been a charming smile on most days.

“Been eating your greens?” Peggy asked, and walked off with a stack of paint-by-number books to reshelf.

“I owe you for that, Steve.”

“Nope. We’re square.” Steve said. “I was getting’ you back for the number you did on my car. Made it in on time, by the way.”

“Yeah. Fuck. I forgot you had work today.” Bucky looked like he meant it and Steve knew Bucky wouldn’t try to screw him over too badly on purpose.

“’S’oakay.” Steve said. He punched his ID number into the computer to clock out and grabbed his bag from behind the counter. “You got this, Peggy?” He asked. She raised her eyebrows at him in incredulity. The question might as well have been rhetorical. “Of course you do. See you tomorrow.”

Steve only felt the exhaustion of eight-plus hours on his feet when he smelled the air outside and knew that freedom was his. He leaned heavily against Bucky and felt Bucky heave a big sigh of his own as they made their way up the block toward parking.

“Don’t know why you insist on driving anyway. You must pay more to park than you make working here.” Bucky said.

“Beats pneumonia.” Steve said. A flurry of snow drifted down, and under the lights it looked like cartoon snow; too pretty with those big white fluffy flakes to be real.

“Then cool.” Bucky said. When they arrived back at the car, Bucky made a face. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I was going to leave a tuna sandwich under the passenger’s seat for my next one, but I can’t do it.” Bucky said. Steve wanted to be mad because, hey it was his fucking car, but it was such a good move that his face split into a smile without conscious thought.

“Shit, Buck. Thanks for not.” Steve said.

“So. You want it?” Bucky asked, taking the sandwich from his pocket and offering half to Steve. It was wrapped in plastic, just like Steve’s car, and Bucky ate half. Steve threw caution to the wind and said yes. It wasn’t bad.

* * *

 “You want to tell me what’s going on?” Peggy asked the next day while they were in the merciful quiet of the back room of the shop.

“Huh?” Steve asked, feeling like he was somehow in trouble.

“Something is happening between you and Bucky. Like you’re up to no good. I’m not sure if I like it or not.” She said.

Steve explained about the past week, leaving out some key details. Peggy knew, with broad brushstrokes, the way he and Bucky operated. Steve was not inclined to share it all. “And yesterday he was going to make my car smell like a tuna sandwich, but he ended up sharing it with me instead.” Steve said. It didn’t sound like cause for Peggy to be fixing him with such an intense look, but there she was.

“Steve.” She sighed, leaning back against a crate of acrylics. “You really don’t see it do you?”

“What?”

“That he’s mad about you.”

“Fuck off.” Steve said. “Oh shit. Sorry. I mean—“

“My gran says worse before tea.” Peggy said and continued. “Anyway. He’s flirting, Steve. And you’re flirting back. When it all comes to a head, please have the common courtesy to make sure you notice, alright?”

“Oh.” Steve felt like a deer in the headlights. “Uh. Sure.” He said, like it was a promise he could make.

“Good. Time to get back to work.” Peggy brushed herself off and left him alone with the paint. 

* * *

 

Bucky was on the couch looking expectant when Steve got home that night. It set Steve off, made him feel like there was something he needed to do. Maybe it was the result of the talk he had with Peggy earlier. Maybe it was something else altogether. Steve had a feeling he needed to be talking about something with Bucky, sitting down and having a serious heart-to-heart with him about things. The truth was, he didn’t know where to begin and he didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t the way they worked. All it took was for Bucky to break into a smile at him for Steve to forget all about the anxiety growing in his chest.

“I didn’t take a shit in your shoes or anything.” Bucky said.

“What the fuck?” Steve asked. “Were you planning to?”

“No.” Bucky said. “You just looked worried. I didn’t do anything bad.”

“Jesus. You’re real fuckin’ gross though. That’s the kind of shit you do if you hate somebody, Buck. I’m your—“ What? Roommate? Best friend? Guy you occasionally perform oral sex on? Steve didn’t know how to finish the sentence. He was spared the need when Bucky started laughing.

“Come on.” Bucky said, popping up from the couch. Steve followed him down the short hallway to his own room. Bucky nodded toward the door and Steve opened it, sure that he looked as worried as he felt.

It looked like a forest inside. Steve could see why Bucky was not willing to wait for Steve to discover it on his own. It had obviously taken a lot of hard work. Every inch of most of the furniture was covered in plants, taped to Steve’s desk, his window, his walls, his bed, Steve looked up, _shit_. Even his ceiling was covered in the stuff.

“It’s…” Bucky started. Steve took a closer look and started laughing.

“Is it mistletoe?” he asked. Bucky looked down at his shoes.

“Yeah.”

“Come here, numbnuts.” Steve said, and pulled him in for a kiss.

They did not stop kissing. Stumbling into the room, they were under a new sprig of mistletoe with each step they took and each step gave them a new reason to kiss. Bucky planned this one well. Steve’s knees collided with the bed and sent him sprawling onto it.

“Ouch.” He said, and pulled a branch out from behind his back.

“Sorry.” Bucky said. He took it from Steve and threw it over his shoulder, helping Steve out of his clothes.

“You get romance advice from Christmas elves?” Steve asked.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Bucky said.

Steve looked Bucky up and down, with his dopy smile and the way his hair hung limp in his face while he balanced on his elbows, careful not to put too much weight on Steve. Bucky was handsome and hopeful and he made Steve feel something good.

“Yeah. It works.” Steve said and pulled Bucky down to him again.

 

Afterward, they lay together watching the snow fall from inside Steve’s room while the windows got foggy and little drops rolled down the glass.

“So.” Bucky said.

“So.” Steve said, and nestled in closer, tugging the blankets up around them.

“What do you think?” Bucky asked.

“I think I want you to say what you want, jerk.”

“I want to be your boyfriend, punk.” Bucky said. His voice was casual, but because he was resting his head on Bucky’s chest, Steve could tell he was holding his breath.

“You already are.” Steve placed a kiss, this one much more chaste, to Bucky’s lips. “So. Are we done with the pranks for now, you think?”

“Yeah. I think we’re good.” Bucky looked around at Steve’s room, with the mistletoe all over. Steve refused to admit that Bucky had won. There would come a day when the pranks would begin again, probably due to boredom, or an argument, or for no reason at all, and Steve would be ready.

The next day, Steve went outside and made a single, perfect snowball, which he brought inside and placed in a paper bag at the back of the freezer to save for a hot summer day when Bucky would least expect it.


End file.
